


Home Warming

by Mems



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, blink and you miss it glasses!beka, otayuri - Freeform, side victurri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 15:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13216914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mems/pseuds/Mems
Summary: The apartment is covered in neatly stacked boxes—Otabek’s doing. No leopard print and no deep, dark black walls, though. Their floors are plush crème carpet and the walls much the same. But it’s open and modern with a huge window in the living room overlooking the city and an actually decent kitchen where he plans on properly teaching Otabek how to make pirozhki like his grandfather does.It’s not quite home yet, but it’s going to be.





	Home Warming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisiseclair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiseclair/gifts), [tuples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuples/gifts).



> Soft, sweet, Otayuri's for the soul. Written as a part of the OWC 2017 Gift Exchange. This was really fun to do and finally broke me into posting something for the fandom. 
> 
> Eclair wanted something domestic and sweet. I hope this lives up to expectation, and happy holidays ^-^

They make plans to move in together after Yuri turns eighteen—half at Otabek’s firm insistence, and half because Yuri’s putting off another of Viktor’s _talks_ with him (the first, just after he and Otabek started dating, was honestly _e-damn-nough,_ and he’s not in the mood for it nor the mother-henning that Yuuri tends to do when he does something _too grown up.)_

No. Thanks.

His grandfather, knowing it’s going to happen before they even get around to telling him, is appreciative of this fact. Any excuse to keep to the idea that his Yurachka is still a kid, isn’t growing up, isn’t leaving the nest, is good enough for him. Even if in the end, he knows that Yuri will do what Yuri wants, but Nikolai’s never made too much a fuss about it; Yuri loves him for that.

Yuri’s eighteenth birthday falls in the middle of a rigorous training season; Otabek comes to visit, but between Lilia and Yakov affording him zero free time, and Yuri’s own need for gold, little happens by way of searching aside from figuring out if Yuri wants to move to Almaty, or if Otabek wants to move to Moscow—or maybe, they’ll compromise, and find a place nice and neat in the middle. They settle on Moscow however, because Yuri’s still not quite ready to venture away from Russia _that_ far and _that_ permanently, and Otabek can see the age creeping in on Nikolai with every passing visit. He decides on his own that Yuri should cherish those moments he has with the old man while they’re still there.

Nothing comes of their minimal searches when Otabek has to go back. He has training himself and his sister’s wedding to prepare for, putting the both of them at being not overworked but definitely far too busy to house hunt. Their frequent Skypes back and forth through training and the skating season _do,_ however, consist of Yuri showing Otabek pictures of the gaudiest apartments he can find, half-way joking about covering the floors in leopard print carpets and painting the walls black.

Otabek reminds him, often with a smile as he pushes up glasses few if any even know he wears off the ice and in private, that they’ll be renting and he’s _pretty sure_ the owners won’t have tastes so _refined_ as Yuri’s.

***

A season comes and goes. They spend as much time together as they can between circuits and navigating a very public relationship—though at the very least, Yuri thinks, with Viktor always trying to land kisses all over Yuuri’s face and cuddling up to him indecently at all times, most of the attention _isn’t_ on him and Otabek.

Except when it comes to the Angels. Yuri being obviously unavailable still hasn’t curbed their voracious need for his attention…

He looks around, highly suspicious and untrusting, wondering if any of the little gremlins are going to pop out of nowhere while he’s helping Otabek cart boxes up from the moving truck in front of the complex and into the apartment he and Otabek land just after the Grand Prix Finals. He and Otabek agreed to keep the location of the apartment as under-wraps as possible. Otabek’s parents and Nikolai would know the address, of course—and Viktor and Yuuri, naturally—but Yuri’s need to Instagram his life would have to covertly and conveniently keep _that_ away from the general public.

This is fine by Yuri, and he smirks at the fact that so far, no one crazy has popped out of the bushes trying to shove a camera up his ass.

He treks up the front stairs, and then into the lobby. Hood up, head down, he heads to an elevator and up, up, up, to the top floor. Yuri wasn’t sure he’d want the top floor (seemed really damn inconvenient) but after seeing the view of Moscow from it, he’d been all in. There was something about being able to view the whole of the snow-capped city from above that sank down in deep and resonated with him.

Their apartment is all the way down the hall. He has to balance the box on his hip to get to his keys in his pocket, but he manages all the same, swearing a little under his breath when he has to catch the box before it falls while his key gives him a hard time about going into the lock.

“Fucking—damn it, go in—" He grumbles when it finally does and he’s able to push inside.

The apartment is covered in neatly stacked boxes—Otabek’s doing. No leopard print and no deep, dark black walls, though. Their floors are plush crème carpet and the walls much the same. But it’s open and modern with a huge window in the living room overlooking the city and an _actually decent kitchen_ where he plans on properly teaching Otabek how to make pirozhki like his grandfather does.

It’s not quite _home_ yet, but it’s going to be.

The thought brings a smile to his face, and then a blush when it’s noticed.

“What’s so funny?”

Otabek comes out of the back room—the one that’s going to be theirs. He has his sleeves rolled up and small bags rest under his eyes, a token of the fact that they’ve been going non-stop with life for the better part of the year.

“Nothing,” Yuri says. _Don’t be sappy._ “Just thinking our apartment’s better than Viktor and Yuuri’s.”

He doesn’t add that it’s because it’s _theirs,_ but the knowing smile on Otabek’s face tells him that he doesn’t have to.

***

They get moved fully in in two days flat—the first day spent moving in all the boxes and the furniture, the second one unpacking and getting everything in order. Yuri is impatient, and Otabek doesn’t relish the thought of living out of boxes for more time than necessary. This arrangement works for them, and has their apartment neatly ordered and fully livable—even if the two of them are, in Yuri’s words, _burnt the fuck out._

He sits with Yuri on the couch, boxes of take-out half-eaten on the coffee table and some sort of cartoon show that Yuuri got him into playing lowly on the TV. Yuri had nearly insisted on cooking (first night in the apartment and all) but after everything was said and done and they had everything put away as they wanted to…

Yeah, _no._ That wasn’t happening.

It’s fine with Otabek. His feet hurt, and his eyes are tired, and as much as he wants to spend his time snugged close to Yuri while he shows him the proper way to prepare his grandfather’s best dishes, he likes the convenience of someone else having made their meals for them. They have days—weeks—ahead of them for that. Now, what he wants most, is to rest with Yuri in their home.

It's a strange thought. Otabek’s lived on his one before, but he’s never thought of any of his stomping grounds as home. Just places. Four walls with a few amenities and it’s been fine for one person. But he’d be lying if he hadn’t thought of this moment more times than what’s probably sane.

Yuri yawns beside him, stretching. Otabek watches him, equally tired, though he can’t seem to get over the fact that this isn’t a mere thought in his head—it’s reality and he can easily reach out and touch Yuri and pull him close—

And he does. Without the same hesitation that made him wait so long to approach Yuri in the first place, he draws him near on the couch. Yuri’s used to this by now, the unspoken ease with which Otabek takes him into his space and he leans his head against Otabek’s shoulder, continuing to yawn. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Yuri was purring.

“You’re just like a cat,” Otabek mutters, smiling a little. “Which reminds me, tomorrow we’ll pick up Potya from your grandfather and—”

A snore interrupts him. He looks down, seeing Yuri’s already dozed off.

The bed would probably be more comfortable… but Otabek recons that it’s bad luck to move a sleeping cat.

***

**yuri_angel_115:** so cute ahhhhhasldhf

**yuriangelforever:** I SHIP IT

**Jjleroy!15:** Woa, nice apartment! You didn’t invite me? TELL OTA HI, YURIO.

**skate-girl:** it’s so perfect @-@

**almaty-sprite-661:** I can’t believe they finally moved in together!!!!

**angel_of_yuri_07:** POTYA AND MAKKACHIN ARE SO CUTEEE

He’s posted up no less than twenty new pictures to Instagram of their apartment since moving in, and exactly ten so far during the impromptu house warming party that Viktor’s initiated.

Read: Viktor showed up with Makkachin and Yuuri unannounced, three whole bottles of vodka, five large bags of house warming gifts, and the expectation that Yuri would cook for them all.

He and Otabek have pirozhki cooking (Viktor’s damn lucky they went grocery shopping, or it’d be more take out for the bastard) while he’s scrolling through his feed, liking comments, ignoring JJ, and furtively eyeing Makkachin every time he noses up a little too close to a very, very, unhappy Potya.

Yuri’s taking bets by the end of the night that she swats at Makkachin’s nose. He plans to document this, thoroughly. Meanwhile, Viktor’s talking animatedly with Yuuri about rearranging their own home. They’re both toasted already, though Viktor’s slightly more sober—namely because, as Yuri’s learned over the years, Yuuri is a pathetic lightweight.

“How do you feel about fur rugs, Yuuri—”

Yuri snorts, and goes back to his phone. _Moron…_

“Anything good?”

He looks up as Otabek comes over, leaning against the counter. He’s got a shot in his hand, probably courtesy of Viktor. Yuri smirks and takes it, tossing it back before settling closer to Otabek, showing him.

“People apparently ship us, whatever that means,” he says. “Also, the Big Dummy says hi. And he’s miffed we didn’t invite him.”

“We didn’t invite Viktor, either. JJ’ll visit at some point.”

_Joy…_

Otabek laughs at the expression on Yuri’s face and puts his arm over his shoulders.

“Jean means well.”

“Yeah, we’ll call it that.”

Yuri ignores the heat that rises along his face as Otabek laughs and presses a kiss to the top of his head—a bit of a feat now, since Yuri’s caught up pretty well to his height and might even clear it by the time he stops growing.

“This isn’t so bad though, is it?” Otabek murmurs after a moment.

Yuri thinks on it. His eyes go to Viktor and Yuuri, drunkenly but sweetly trying to get Makkachin and Potya acquainted with each other. There’s food cooking, almost done, and snow falling outside while they’re snug and warm inside.  

He leans against Otabek, grinning.

“Nah. Not bad at all.”


End file.
